


i'll be your candle, i'll be your statuette

by misandrywitch



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Sexual Tension, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-08-16
Packaged: 2018-04-15 02:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4589466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misandrywitch/pseuds/misandrywitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Bros don’t let bros get set up by their fathers,” Lardo says casually, ignoring the fact that her heart rate has jumped and her hands feel clammy around the beer can.</p><p>(aka the Lardo and Shitty fake dating competitive makeout fic you didn't know you needed til now).</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'll be your candle, i'll be your statuette

**Author's Note:**

> im writing the fic i want to see in the world so this is completely self indulgent & schmoopy, i'm sorry. oh & it started as a text post that cait lardoduans made so-- business as per fuckin usual?
> 
> shittybknights.tumblr.com

When Lardo walks into the Haus one chilly afternoon in February and hears Shitty shouting, it takes her a few minutes to actually get worried. Shitty is almost always talking, and shouting more often than not, and it’s usually at Ransom’s prowess on Rainbow Road, or at his homework, or at yesterday’s NHL highlights.

Lardo drops her bookbag and her stack of canvases behind the couch, kicks off her shoes and tugs off her winter coat and beanie before she hears Jack’s low baritone come from the kitchen. She can’t understand what he says but it sounds serious and sympathetic. Shitty curses softly, and there’s a thump like he’s banged his head against a door, and Lardo thinks _Oh shit_. The combination of Shitty’s tone of voice and Jack’s sympathy makes her sure it’s family stuff, so she gives up on brushing the snow off her coat to walk into the kitchen.

“I could break my leg, or something?” Shitty is saying.

“Don’t you dare, not before playoffs,” Jack says, “Oh, hey Lardo.” Jack, in sweats, is leaning against the fridge eating a granola bar and Shitty, in tweety bird boxers, seems intent on busting through the kitchen counter with his forehead.

“Sup,” Shitty says wanly, right half of his face planted on the counter. He reaches one arm out in Jack’s direction and wriggles his fingers sadly, the picture of despair. “Jaaaaack,” he says. “What else am I gonna do? Ask Ransom to set me up with someone? Grab a girl off the street? Beer me, bro.”

“It’s three o’clock,” Jack says, trying and mostly failing to adopt his captainy voice, “and Tuesday. And Ransom’s not bad at blind dating.”

“Rans tried to set Bits up with a six-foot-five Australian,” Lardo ducks under Jack’s arm to get into the fridge, grabbing two cans of PBR. She passes one to Shitty, who starts waxing poetic about what a lifesaver she is. “And Camilla Collins is gay."

“Her girlfriend was out of town this year and she didn't want to go alone,” Jack shrugs. "We had a nice time." 

“Six foot five is a lot of Australian,” Shitty pops the can on the beer. “Bits would have to scale that like a tree.”

Jack coughs.

“What the hell are you guys even talking about?” Lardo hops up on the counter next to Shitty’s head and opens her own beer. It is 3pm on a Tuesday but it seems to be one of those days that deserves a beer before dinner. Lardo had spent all morning fighting with Photoshop, and has a major crick in her neck and the beginnings of a headache.

“My cousin Martin’s wedding is next weekend,” Shitty says. “And I don’t have a way to get out of it because we don’t have a game and I’m not allowed to get hit by a truck.”

“Sorry for the inconvenience?” Jack says.

“And in the ubiquitous words of my father, I need to bring a girl date or he will bring me a girl date,” Shitty sighs and looks accusingly at Jack. “So like, what use are you?”

Jack bites into his granola bar, shrugging.

“And I was just gonna bring Allison because she at least already knows them, but she had something come up, which I can’t really blame her for because spending the afternoon with your ex-boyfriend’s crazy fucking family is not worth an open bar.”

“You were gonna bring your ex to a family wedding?” Lardo asks, and Shitty looks at her in despair from under his hair.

“It wasn’t the best thought out plan, okay? We’re pretty chill these days, and it’s not like I was gonna sleep with her or anything.” Lardo hasn’t met Shitty’s senior-year ex-girlfriend but understands that they broke up because of some kind of imbalance of interest combined with Shitty’s decision to go to Samwell instead of Harvard. Lardo’s sure she’s very nice and is a bit impressed with Shitty’s ability to be friends with his exes, but for some reason that thought makes her feel irritable, and a little queasy. She gulps more PBR.

“But now I’m gonna have to tell my dad all this shit, which means that he’s gonna set me up with the daughter of one of his fucking business associates with the expectation I’ll pass for acceptable in all the family photos and maybe fall for her and end up back on the straight and narrow,” Shitty says this all so miserably and Lardo feels prickly and a little bit impulsive, and all this drives her to say something very stupid.

“I’ve got this,” she says. “I’ll go with you.” Shitty rotates his head on the table to stare up at her.”I mean, I am a girl, right? I do fulfill that requirement for your fake date.”

“No,” he says. “No, Lards. You don’t have to do that. It’s gonna be hellish. I don’t wanna put you through that.” He looks sheepish and slightly horrified and Lardo tries hard not to take it personally.

“I’ve got your back, bro,” Lardo says firmly. “Worst comes to worst I’ll smuggle in a flask in my bra and we can have our own party.”

Shitty stares at her for a long minute, a frown creasing the space between his eyebrows. “Chyeah, alright,” he says finally. “You’re a fucking miracle, you know that? I’ll find some way to repay you, for real.”

“Bros don’t let bros get set up by their fathers,” Lardo says casually, ignoring the fact that her heart rate has jumped and her hands feel clammy around the beer can. “Just as long as it’s cool if I wear black, because I don’t own nice dresses in any other color.”

“Uh,” Shitty says, “yeah, totally fine. You’ll look-- I mean-- yeah, chill. I have to wear a tie, so.”

They stare at each other for another second. Jack crumples up the wrapper to his granola bar and sighs and starts towards the door.

“I’m going to go watch that documentary about war nurses if you want to join,” he says as he goes.

“Yeah,” Lardo says, and hops off the counter. She sits down next to Jack on the couch as he flips on the TV and he gives her a look. Shitty leaves the kitchen a few minutes later carrying a box of Captain Crunch, and he flings himself onto the couch so his head’s in Lardo’s lap and his knees are draped across Jack’s knees.

Jack gives her another look when Lardo absentmindedly starts braiding Shitty’s hair, but she ignores it.

 

* * *

 

 

They get off to a late start on Saturday because Bitty makes breakfast and Shitty has to help shovel out the Haus and he can’t track down the tie he was planning to wear and ends up borrowing one from Jack. Bitty picks it out, deciding on green. It’s a two-and-a-half hour drive to the wedding venue, some hotel that’s closer to Martha’s Vineyard than Boston, and Shitty realizes that they aren’t going to have time to get ready at the hotel before the ceremony. His dad’s going to be pissed.

Lardo is nonplussed about it, just hands him a giant thermos of coffee and pulls her makeup case out of her overnight bag. Shitty wishes he could say he’s only bad with time-sensitive tasks when he doesn’t really care about them, but they both know that isn’t true. Lardo flips open the overhead car mirror and starts putting on foundation as Shitty drives them out of Samwell and flicks through her iPod.

“What about Bad Religion?” Lardo says, and Shitty feels tremendously grateful for her ability to know exactly what he needs without ever saying anything out loud. He was going to recommend catching up on Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me, but punk rock suits his mood a lot better.

“So is this a whole family event?” Lardo asks halfway through “The Empire Strikes First.” It’s actually a beautiful day, cold and crisp. They’re getting closer to the city so the snow on the side of the road is getting blacker and slushier. Lardo had finished her eyeliner and slipped on sunglasses and she looks like an incognito rockstar; dark lipstick, oversized plaid shirt and no shoes.

“Yeeeeep,” Shitty drums his fingers on the wheel in time to the electric guitar. “And then some. Marty’s an accountant and his fiance’s family owns a whole bunch of upscale country clubs or some shit. So it’s the whole shebangaroo plus all the people my dad and grandfather and uncle invited to schmooze with. A giant clusterfuck, basically.”

“My second cousin got married a few years ago and I had to sit through a traditional Vietnamese wedding,” Lardo says. “That’s an all day marathon event. The betrothal ceremony, engagement ceremony and wedding all happened on the same day.”

“Damn,” Shitty says.

“It was pretty though.”

“Y’know, it’s not too late to ditch this shit and just go to Six Flags.”

Lardo looks at him over the rim of her glasses and pats his knee. It is wishful thinking.

“We can hotbox your car in the parking lot,” she says, and something in Shitty’s heart turns over.

They buzz through a Sonic drivethrough in Boston and Shitty gets onion rings and a cherry limeade. Lardo orders a giant bacon cheeseburger, and he watches as she fucking houses the fucking thing and then reapplies her lipstick.

He knows, empirically, that waiting for the perfect moment for something is fruitless and ridiculous, a narrative perpetuated by popular media culture to convince women that any half-assed romantic attempt a man made meant that he’s _the one_. He knows, deep down, that if he wants this to go anywhere he has to just take a damn leap of faith, because rom coms are artificial and life doesn’t work that way.

Sure would be nice, though.

Shitty parks the car outside the hotel and calls his dad to tell him that yes, they are here and yes, he did bring a suit and yes, they’ll be inside in a minute. He grabs his shoes and jacket from the back seat and starts cramming his feet into them while Lardo slides neatly between the two front seats and starts unbuttoning her shirt and unzipping the plastic protector around her dress.

“Yo,” he says as she lays down on her back to pull off her leggings, a complicated wiggle of fabric in a ridiculous pose. He mouth feels dry all of a sudden, his fingers clumsy. “We can run into the bathroom in the lobby if that’s--”

“Nah,” Lardo says, a little muffled. “Got it.” She flings her leggings across the car and picks up her dress.

Shitty finishes tying his shoes and looks the other direction while Lardo slides the dress over her head. Her bra flies over the back of the seat a second later. It’s not like he’s ever seen her in a swimsuit before, or in her underwear (they’d spent one hot summer breaking into every hotel pool within several miles of his mom’s house) or even naked (the Pond Streaking Video Footage Incident from last spring, which had made Shitty and Lardo and Ransom and Holster very glad they didn’t have more identifiable asses). But this feels different, and he doesn’t really know why.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lardo slips on her heels and hops out of the car into the parking lot. Shitty’s standing next to the driver’s side door sliding on his suit jacket. It’s cold, and Lardo’s glad she decided to wear the one long formal dress she has.

“Yo,” she says, and turns around so her back’s facing Shitty. “Zip me up?” Shitty’s fingers are a little chilly on her back. They almost always are; bad circulation or something.

“Hey Lards,” Shitty says. “Uh. Can I tell you something?”

His voice is uncharacteristically serious and quiet so Lardo turns around. Shitty has tucked his hair back into a bun at the nape of his neck and he’s fiddling with his tie. Lardo has the sudden ridiculous urge to ask if he needs her to tie it for him, but his fingers are working expertly and he hardly seems to be paying attention to what he’s doing. Years of public school, probably. Shitty looks down at her and bites his bottom lip and Lardo starts to feel a little worried.

“What is it?” she asks. She can’t figure what it could be. She’s nervous, suddenly. 

“My name is Bernard,” Shitty says.

“Oh,” Lardo pauses and tries to think of something, anything, slightly positive to say. “Uh. It’s-- um-- “

“It’s fucking atrocious,” Shitty says. “You don’t have to sugarcoat it.”

“Yeah,” Lardo winces. “Yeah, it really is.”

“I sound like a posh white Hampton asshole with a mistress who lives in a beach condo in New Jersey,” Shitty says. “I figured I’d tell you so you’re not shocked into silence during dinner or, yknow, caught off guard when my family wonders why my date doesn’t know my name. Yknow.”

Lardo puts her hand on his arm. “Sorry, dude,” she says. “Don’t worry,” she adds. “You ruined that mystique for me the first time you cried all the way through ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas.’”

“You always know just what to say,” Shitty says.

“How fake dating are we talking here?” Lardo asks, and Shitty frowns, which is weird.

“You might have to dance with me and pose for a few photos,” Shitty says. Lardo nods, entertains a fleeting idea, pushes it aside. Shitty’s watching her face so she smiles at him, and he and offers her his arm. “Once more unto the breach?”

“Henry V? Really?” Lardo takes his arm anyway and they make their way into the hotel.

“I was thinking Pacific Rim, actually,” Shitty says. Lardo holds the door for him and he curtseys before stepping through. He turns around as he goes to look back at her. “Yknow Larissa,” he says, “you clean up real nice.”

Lardo lets the door swing closed. “Your ass looks nice in those dress pants, Bernard,” she says, and breezes past him into the lobby. 

 

 

 

 

 

Shitty’s dad meets them in the lobby so they can all then get on a limo to go down the street to the mega-huge stained-glass-fronted church where the ceremony is taking place. Shitty doesn’t think Marty or Victoria are religious but it’s a front to appease his grandmother, who is. Most of the family is gathered in the lobby and none of them are really talking to each other. His grandmother is complaining, loudly, about the quality of her breakfast, and Aunt Katherine looks impatient and incomplete without a martini in hand.

“What took you so long?” Shitty’s dad has his Bluetooth headset in his ear which is just excessive.

“Roads were bad,” Shitty lies. “Dad, you remember Lardo?” He feels himself wrangling in his language, how his voice sounds and the words he’s choosing and how they come out. It’s an automatic reflex, tempering himself, dialing everything back in, and he hates it but he does it anyway.

Private school had been ridiculous but it had also been an escape, and the first time Shitty had said the word _fuck_ (under his breath in the back of the library, urged on by his friends) it had sounded and felt more like _freedom._ It had made him feel light in the chest, a little giddy, the same way lighting a joint or kissing a boy or getting on the ice does. It still feels that way.

“Yeah, of course,” Shitty’s dad nods in Lardo’s direction. “Get your grandmother outside, will, you?” He says. “I have to take a call and she’s been wound up since this morning.”

“She hit the minibar early then?” Shitty asks.

“Before breakfast,” his dad gives him a look and walks out of the hotel lobby.

“Super,” Shitty says, and then goes about the arduous task of saying hello to the rest of his immediate family. “Lards, this is Aunt Jill and Uncle Henry and my cousins Gloria and Chris-- Marty’s number three-- and Aunt Katherine, and that's Uncle Milo, dad’s oldest brother, and his wife Caroline and my-- sorry Lucy I guess you’re my step-cousin? Everyone, this is Larissa.”

“So nice to meet you,” Gloria, who’s a few years older than Shitty and on her way to med school, shakes Lardo’s hand which makes Lardo’s face contort in bemusement for a few seconds before she can get it under control.

“Bernard!” Shitty’s grandmother finally spots him and walks imperiously through the crowd of her grandchildren to stop in front of him. Shitty kisses her on the cheek, which also makes Lardo snort.

“For a moment I thought you had gotten a haircut,” his grandmother says, pointing up at his hair with one french-tip nail.

“No, not yet,” Shitty says.

“I don’t think we’ve seen your ears in three years,” Gloria says lightly.

“You look like a hippie,” his grandfather says over Chris’s shoulder. “Is that what you’re going for? You want to look as grungy as possible at your cousin’s wedding? You making a political statement?”

“I’ll take it down if you’d like that better,” Shitty says as mildly as he can.

“No, no,” his grandmother waves his hand. “Then you just look homeless.”

“Can’t have that,” Shitty says.

“What does your lovely young lady think of it, hm? You have longer hair than she does, my goodness. Is that the fashion these days?”

“She isn’t--” Shitty starts, but Lardo interrupts him. She takes two steps closer to him and slips her hand through his arm, leaning against his shoulder and smiling.

“Actually,” she says, and her voice and smile are bright, “I like it quite a lot. I think it’s dashing, you don’t think it’s dashing?”

“Dashing,” Shitty’s grandmother echoes.

“Man grows his hair like that, it shows he’s not afraid of anything. Isn’t that right?” Lardo beams up at Shitty, her head still resting on his arm. There’s a funny look in her eye, underneath her smile. Shitty smiles down at her in a way he hopes looks genuine and not just confused.

“Still looks like you’re running from the draft,” Shitty’s grandfather says.

“I believe our ride’s going to be here in a minute,” Shitty says loudly. “Why don’t we all head outside? Gloria, is that dress Louis Vuitton? It’s great.” And he starts ushering them towards the doors of the hotel.

“Oh wow,” Lardo, still leaning against his arm, whispers as they head out and into the limo. Shitty just nods, a silent I-told-you-so.

“Dashing?” he says. “You told my grandmother I look dashing?”

Lardo turns to look at him as she steps over the curb. “Sure,” she says, and smiles with the corner of her mouth and one eyebrow. Shitty suddenly recognizes the look in her eyes, and that expression. It’s the way she looks when she’s staring across the pong table at whoever she’s about to take down, and the look she gets when she’s going to crush everyone at Super Mario Bros and knows it, and the set of her eyes when she’s in the locker room five minutes before a game telling them it’s time to wreck shit, boys. It’s a look of concentration, and competition.

 _Huh,_ Shitty thinks, as he helps his grandmother into the limo.

 

 

 

 

Lardo ends up squished between Shitty and his cousin Chris in the limo, and it almost drives off without Shitty’s dad, who is still on the phone and looks very annoyed when he finally sits down. It’s always a little strange to see Shitty and his dad side by side. They look similar enough; same thick hair, same build, similar jawlines and mouth. But Mr. Knight has frown lines between his eyes, and his eyes are darker and harder.

Shitty balls his fist up against his knee as the limo pulls out of the parking lot. He’s tense and he feels tense in a way that reminds Lardo a little of Jack and how Jack gets before games. Tight around the jaw but still everywhere else. Shitty’s usually full of nervous energy, or exuberance, or anger. Lardo bumps her shoulder against his, a gesture of solidarity, and he leans up against her a little.

“Hey,” Shitty’s cousin Gloria, who is brunette and freckled and sitting across from them, lifts her phone. “Pose for a picture?”

Two other cousins lean in so Shitty and Lardo are in the middle. Shitty slides his arm around her so his fingers end up casually on her bare shoulder and their faces are pressed together. It could be a friendly gesture, a casual one meant to share space because Shitty shares space with everyone. But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels deliberate. Shitty’s arm is draped around her back but his hand is resting on the curve of her shoulder, fingers on the very edge of her collarbone.

It makes her pause, just for a second. Lardo’s always been a bit competitive, but she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t admit that hanging out with the hockey team has made it worse. She started this, maybe, and there’s no way in hell she’s going to back down from it. No way. She puts her hand up so it’s touching Shitty’s fingers and he twitches, just a little. The camera flashes.

“So, Larissa,” Gloria says after she’s done taking her photo. “What are you studying? Political science like Bernard?”

“No,” Lardo says. “Art.”

“Oh, how novel,” Gloria says, and Shitty’s fingers tighten on her shoulder a little bit. The limo pulls out into the street and Lardo drops her hand, but Shitty doesn’t move his arm from around her shoulders. When Lardo looks over at him, he looks smug.

  _If that’s how you want to play this, Knight, that’s how it’ll be,_ Lardo thinks. She hopes he knows exactly what he’s started.

 

 

 

 

“I was a little worried I was gonna ignite when we walked through the doors,” Lardo whispers into Shitty’s ear once they’ve filed into the church pews and taken their seats. The place is massive and imposing, decked out in flowers despite the fact that there’s snow outside, and packed. Lardo and Shitty are sitting a rows back in the middle with the rest of his cousins. Gloria has already started sniffling which is a little over the top, even for her.

“For what?” Shitty says out of the corner of his mouth. “The sex out of wedlock? The length of your hair? The feminism?”

“I thought the bisexuality and the fact that my parents are Buddhists might catch up with me first,” Lardo’s leaning up to talk right into his ear and Shitty can practically feel her smile against his neck. Earlier in the day he would have said it was an accident but he thinks about the look in Lardo’s eyes, and her fingers on his when Gloria had taken the photo, and he’s not so sure. The thought makes him feel nervous, and exhilarated, a little bit uncertain and completely overwhelmed. “This whole thing has to have cost as much as my college tuition,” she continues. Shitty knows it was probably double or triple that.

“Ten bucks they read 1 Corinthians,” he says, and Lardo shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t know a Bible verse from a U2 song,” she says. “But a bottle of bourbon to me if they play a Lumineers song.”

“Deal.” They shake on it.

“She looks so beautiful,” Gloria sniffles when cousin Martin’s bride-to-be starts down the aisle ten minutes later to Pachelbel’s canon. “This is a dream wedding. Haven’t you always wanted a wedding that looks just like this?”

“Have you ever stopped to consider that marriage isn’t anything but an outdated sexist barnacle clinging to the sinking remains of a tradition where women were literally considered property to be bought and handed off from father to husband, and that it has no real purpose in modern society except to enforce postmodern Christian values and strict gender roles?” Shitty asks. 

Gloria doesn’t seem to hear him because a Lumineers song starts playing.

 

 

 

 

There are some vows, and a kiss, and a whole lot of tears, and Shitty’s now cousin-in-law looks beautiful, and the whole thing makes Lardo feel really grateful that this is one societal expectation her parents have never really fixated on. There are a lot of things she wants in her future, some concrete goals and some hazy dreams, a few what-ifs, but being the center of an enormous and expensive debacle like this isn’t one of them.

Still, it’s sweet in its way. Shitty’s cousin Martin, who is tall and Kennedy-good-looking, chokes up reading his vows. When everyone’s attention is directed towards the front, Lardo moves her hand over a few inches so her fingers rest on top of Shitty’s where he’s got them resting on the pew. She does it half to see if she can make herself go through with it, and half to see what he’ll do.

Shitty doesn’t look away from the front of the church but he does swallow, hard. But then he flips his hand over and slides his fingers in between hers, and if they hadn’t literally been in the middle of a wedding Lardo would have smacked him. His hands are warm, and they’re not that big but they’re bigger than hers, his fingers folding down past her knuckles.

She’s not about to be out-maneuvered by some fucking hand-holding. Oh no. Lardo has a lot of her time earmarked for fucking with the team, Shitty in particular but all of them really, and she’s got a damn reputation to uphold and she’s not going to let it start crumbling now, even in the face of Shitty’s big warm hands and little half smile.

Lardo moves her thumb along Shitty’s thumb, up to the nail and then down to his wrist. He blinks. She traces a circle around his knuckle. His lip twitches.

After the ceremony wraps up they get dragged into an excruciating half hour of family photos. Lardo mostly hangs back and watches Shitty and his cousins and Martin and his new wife stand in different combinations and smile. Shitty’s smile gets more and more forced and his eyes are very saying _Fuck this_  or maybe _Help me_ when the photographer waves at the rest of them.

“We’ll get a few group shots, the family and plus-ones, and then wrap it up. Sounds good?” Lardo goes to stand next to Shitty and he puts his hand on her shoulder again. She slips his arm around his waist.

“I’m gonna get so drunk after this,” Shitty hisses through his teeth. “Am I convincing anyone?”

“You kinda look like a serial killer,” Lardo says.

“Smile, Bernard, honestly,” Shitty’s grandmother says, and he grits his teeth in an expression that might pass for a smile if you had never seen one before in your life.

“Say cheese!” The photographer says, and the flash on his camera starts going off. Right before he snaps the last photo Lardo drops her hand so it lands right on Shitty’s butt. He jumps, and knocks his elbow into his cousin Chris’s arm. The camera probably captures Chris turning to frown, Shitty’s wide-eyed surprise, Lardo’s laughter.

 _Game, set, match,_ Lardo thinks. _Your move, Knight._

 

 

 

 

The ballroom where the wedding reception is set up is massive, and there are even more people here than there were at the ceremony. Lardo and Shitty are seated at a table with Shitty’s grandparents and a few other family friends whose names she immediately forgets when she’s introduced to them. Martin and Victoria come in and everyone applauds, and Shitty sloshes wine into her glass so it’s full to the brim then fills his own. He takes a huge gulp when everyone’s attention is directed towards the front of the room and Lardo follows suit, because she really needs it. 

She can’t imagine how he deals with this on a regular basis, but that’s not really something she can say out loud, so she just picks up the bottle of table wine and refills his glass.

They finish the bottle off between them in the time it takes for Victoria's father and the best man to give speeches, and Lardo's on her way to drunk by the time they're finally allowed to get up and eat. Shitty hands her his plate and moves off towards the bar to find them more drinks, and Lardo finds herself standing in line behind Shitty's uncle Milo, who's the uncle she's spoken to least so far. 

"What did you do to get suckered into attending this?" he asks, and Lardo laughs because it's so unexpected. Uncle Milo is taller than both Shitty and his father, and his face has a much more mischievous cast to it. He could pass for Shitty in thirty years or so, with a neater haircut and an expensive tie on. 

"It's not so bad," Lardo says, and it doesn't sound very convincing. She starts ladling salad onto her plate. 

"I won't tell," Uncle Milo says. "This is my family, after all. He must have really won you over, huh?"

"Guess so," Lardo says.

When she sits down Shitty slides her a gin and tonic with a wink, and when they start eating he moves his left hand under the table and puts it on her knee. Lardo does the same thing, sliding her fingers through his and squeezing a little in a way she hopes says  _Did you forget I'm lefthanded or what?_

They're listening to Gloria tell a very convoluted story about a mishap some friends of hers had while vacationing in Mexico (both trying very hard to not look bored by it) when Lardo moves her hand from Shitty's hand to his knee, and then a few inches above it and towards the inside of his thigh.

He almost knocks over his wine glass. 

After the bride and groom cut the cake, one of Shitty's aunts wanders over to their table. It takes Lardo a second to remember her name's Katherine, probably his father's younger sister judging by her age and the family resemblance. 

"I've got your room keys," she says, digging them out of her handbag. "I would have given them to you earlier but you were late. We've put you in your own room, Larissa, I hope that's okay with you two lovebirds." 

“Oh,” Lardo says, and takes the little plastic key card. “Thanks. You didn’t need to—“

“Oh, it’s no problem,” Aunt Katherine waves one hand. She’s got very pink nail varnish on. “We booked an extra few rooms in case the family from England wanted to come, but they ended up going to Majorca and what else are we going to do with the rooms? Honestly, Majorca? I’d skip a wedding for Bermuda but not Majorca.”

“Right,” Lardo says, and it takes an incredible amount of self control to not pound her forehead against the table. She settles for shooting a sideways look at Shitty, who is looking a bit murderous again. “Well, thank you.”

“You’re in with Chris,” Aunt Katherine addresses this to Shitty, who waves his finger around in the air unenthusiastically. “Double bed I think. Don't worry, they had surgery done for the snoring last year. Do you know if that friend of your father’s is single? The one with the good hair?”

“Uh, I think you met his wife at Christmas,” Shitty says. “She’s a flight attendant, or something.”

“Oh, well that’s okay then,” Aunt Katherine gets up and wanders off, and Lardo decides it’s time for a little fresh air.

“I’m running to the bathroom,” she taps Shitty on the shoulder as she stands up and he nods a little glumly and downs his glass of wine.

She doesn’t actually go into the restroom; she wanders out the hotel lobby’s doors to stand outside in the chilly evening air and take a few deep breaths. It’s cold and the sun is going down, and Lardo wonders briefly what the hell she’s doing. It doesn’t feel good to sit still, so she wanders across the parking lot towards Shitty’s parked car with the hopes of finding the stash of weed that he typically keeps inside it. She’ll shove it in her purse or down her bra for later.

When she realized that she had a crush on Shitty, a full-blown pining-filled nonsense crush, Lardo’s reaction had mostly been one of irritation that her life had come to this. That she was crushing on a jock. A boy jock. Granted, Shitty’s not that much of a jock and he’s pretty great as boys go, but he’s also one of her best friends and the whole thing had a serious element of the ridiculous to it that makes it that much more unbelievable.

Lardo’s kept a lid on it mostly, because she knows if she lets it slip to anyone (read: Justin Oluransi and Adam Birkholtz) she won’t hear the end of it until the day she dies. Her roommate is probably pretty tired of hearing about the whole situation but doesn’t have much in the way of Shitty-related recommendations, so the one person Lardo’s actually talked to about it is Jack. He’s a good listener, doesn’t offer a lot of unnecessary advice and mostly lets Lardo punch his pillow and yell about it when nobody else is in the Haus. Two weeks or so before the wedding they’d been studying in the library when Lardo had dropped her art history book and thumped her head on the table.

“I’m just—“ she’d said, and Jack had glanced over from whatever extremely boring stack of papers he was in the middle of highlighting. “I’m afraid that it’ll be complicated,” she’d continued. “That no matter what the outcome is it’ll make everything complicated, and different. That maybe if I wait there will be a moment where it won’t.”

Jack had frowned at her and then actually set his highlighter down and crossed his arms on the table, folding his big hands in front of him. “I can’t tell you how you feel about Shits,” he’d said, “and I hate to, you know, turn into some kind of armchair psychiatrist here—“ Lardo had snorted, “but do you really think it’ll be less complicated if you wait?”

“I don’t know,” Lardo had said, honestly. “I guess not?”

“Look, just take it from me—“ Jack had paused, and Lardo had thought he wasn’t going to continue when he’d nodded a little like he was making up his own mind, “sometimes difficult things, no matter what they are, get even more difficult to say if you put them off. Sometimes if you wait for the right moment you could end up in a spot where you don’t even know how to start.”

Lardo had wanted to make light of it, crack a joke or something, but then she’d remembered that hockey player she’d creamed at pong at Epikegster, and how Jack had been afterwards, tight around the jaw and tired around the eyes. So she hadn’t said anything and had just nodded, and they’d gone back to studying like it hadn’t even come up.

It’s taken her a while to figure out what the hell she was going to do about it. She was still figuring out what she was going to do about it this morning.

Lardo’s starting to get cold and she can’t find Shitty’s car stash, which he usually keeps in a box made to look like a collection of Hemingway short stories (with the assumption that nobody would voluntarily open a book of Hemingway short stories) under the passenger side seat. It isn’t in the trunk or anywhere in the back seat, so she pulls open the glove box as a last resort. It’s filled with a pretty typical collection of Shitty-related nonsense; a pipe, a copy of a Fiona Apple CD, a collection of crumpled receipts, a hockey puck. No weed. And—Lardo frowns—a box of condoms. Not opened.

Probably just a coincidence. 

She shoves a few in her bag anyway, and goes back inside.

“Well listen,” Shitty’s grandfather is saying when Lardo gets back from the bathroom and sits down again. “You’re doing yourself a disservice by ruling it out, you know. What does your father think about that?

“He might be wishing he went a different direction,” Shitty says snippily, “because of, you know, the indictment.” Lardo winces into her glass of wine as Shitty’s grandmother gives him a sharp look.

“Bernard,” she says. “We’re in public.”

“Oh, we’re not talking about that in polite company yet. My apologies,” Shitty holds up his hands.

“I’m simply saying,” Shitty’s grandfather keeps going, apparently undeterred by anything except for maybe the literal ending of the world. The music changes to a louder song and he just talks right over it. “I’m simply telling you that you should keep your options open, and you’ll be very sorry if you don’t. There isn’t any reason why you can’t get accepted to the H-B-S with a political science degree, especially with two years of--”

“I love this song,” Lardo says, even though she has no idea what it is, because she’s beginning to think that if she doesn’t get them both out of this situation Shitty’s head will actually explode. “Want to do me a favor and dance with me?” She stands up and holds out her hand. Shitty takes it.

“Scuse me,” he says. “The lady would like to dance, and what kind of Knight scion would I be if I refused her?” And he lets Lardo pull him away from the table and towards the dancefloor. It’s pretty packed but no more so than any Haus party, and Lardo tugs Shitty to the other side of the floor. The music is something fast and upbeat but she loops her arms over Shitty’s shoulders (a bit of a stretch) so they just sway back and forth, totally out of time.

“You’re a fucking lifesaver,” Shitty says, and it comes out as a sigh. “Sorry. I shouldn’t even fucking get into that shit, I should know better and just leave it the fuck alone, but--” He sighs again. “It’s juvenile, I know, I know--”

“It’s okay man,” Lardo says. Shitty drops his head so his chin is resting on her hair; Lardo can feel his breath ruffle the part of her fringe that's already getting too long and she drops her hands to the space between his neck and collarbone because that's easier than clasping him behind his head. They stay like that for a few minutes until the song ends and another one starts. Lardo snorts, because it’s the Cupid Shuffle, and there’s no way you just don’t dance to the Cupid Shuffle.

Shitty’s dance moves are ridiculously over the top, and she spends more time laughing at him than she does actually dancing, and it’s somewhere in here that Lardo makes up her mind. It isn’t really a decision, because there’s a part of her that knew this was going to happen, even if it feels a little cliche. Lardo just knows, as she watches Shitty do windmill arms and almost smack someone in the eye, that she isn’t going to back down and she is going to take this all the way.

A few songs later Shitty grabs her wrist and pulls her away from the dancers, a familiar tag-team move they’ve gotten good at during massive parties where Lardo easily gets lost in crowds of taller people.

“Wanna see if we can get the bartender to give us shots?” he asks. He has to bend over to shout in her ear. Lardo looks at him with an expression meant to say _Is the water wet?_ so they shove off through the crowd and beg two rounds of tequila shots from the bar. Lardo lifts her shot glass to clink it against Shitty’s before tossing it back, and even though her eyes water she doesn’t chase it with anything and knocks back the second one too. Shitty grins at her and then coughs and then gulps the soda the bartender offers him.

“Might be able to have that conversation with my grandfather now,” he says, and his words trip over themselves a little. “The H-B-fucking-S. It’s a joke, right, a joke. I could take a shit and give it two years of work experience and as long as it had the last name Knight Harvard would literally suck its own dick to let it in.  Do I look like someone who wants to get an MBA, Lards?" 

“You look like someone who wants to dance,” Lardo says, and maybe that’s a stupid thing to say but Shitty grins. He lets her loop her fingers around his wrist, right above the cuff of his sleeve, and follows her back to the dancefloor. The crush of people has increased; Shitty’s cousin Chris bumps into them as they pass and Lardo’s drunk so she nearly falls over. Shitty catches her around the waist and doesn’t let go and they move past his drunk cousins together, tripping a little over each other’s feet. “Crazy In Love” starts playing because of course it does, and Lardo’s feeling drunk and brave so she slides her hand over Shitty’s and moves it to her hips.

She hears him draw in a breath, a startled one, and Lardo moves her hip up against his because she’s got the upper hand for the moment and she likes that. But then his fingers tighten a little and she feels him laugh a little somewhere up above her right ear. Shitty gets even closer to her, if that’s possible. His stomach and chest are strong and warm against her back, his breath hot in her ear. 

He ruins it when he starts improvising Jay-Z’s lyrics, so Lardo’s obligated to turn around and smack him on the bicep. It's very un-sexy, but he ducks out of her way and they wrestle around for a minute as he tries to ruffle her hair, and that's good. 

They’re grinning at each other when a Train song comes on. A slow one.

“Oh my god,” Lardo groans.

“This is some sappy ass shit,” Shitty says. “Jesus.”

“I think my teeth are rotting.”

“Wanna dance?”

“Cool.”

He does a very bad job of simultaneous waltzing and serenading her (Shitty has a truly terrible voice and is banned from karaoke at any Haus parties because of it) and halfway through Lardo grabs his hand to move it around her shoulders so she can lead. Cousin Gloria glares at them a little, so Lardo spins Shitty out as effectively as she can considering his nine inches on her, and then fake dips him. He ends up bent almost in half with his head brushing the floor, and starts to lose his footing so Lardo has to grab him around the middle and yank him back upright. Shitty grabs at her shoulders to steady himself and they wind up face-to-face. He's laughing, a little out of breath and flushed from being upside down, and his laugh fades slowly as they stare at each other. Lardo's heart picks up an irregular base rhythm and her first instinct is to break eye contact and laugh it off but her second is to hold her ground. 

She's wrestling away that first instinct, to turn this into any one of a hundred moment they've had where they brush hands or bump shoulders or wind up too close together, when Shitty moves his hand from her shoulder to the side of her face, and bends down, and kisses her. 

He kisses softly and almost a little hesitantly until Lardo melts into it, catching his arm at the elbow and pushing herself up a little on her toes. It isn't at all how Lardo thought he'd kiss because it's better, and when she presses harder into his mouth he pulls back, straightens up. Lardo feels a little dizzy. 

 And then his mouth slants into a smile, the kind of expression he gets on his face when he's two seconds away from screaming in triumph because the puck looks like it's going to go in the net.

"Your move," Shitty says, and Lardo wants to kick him in the groin or kiss him or laugh. 

There is probably a better time to do this but--

There might be a classier way to do this, but--

"Shits," Lardo says, as firmly as she can make herself sound, which is pretty firm. "Get your ass off the dance floor and into the hall."

"Eh?" He'd started to turn back into the crowd but he looks back at her. 

"You heard me," Lardo says, and she makes herself turn around and shove a few dancers out of the way and hopes to god there's a supply closet or something in this hotel because she really doesn't want to do this in a bathroom.

 

 

 

 

There is one, a conveniently unlocked door around the corner from the bathrooms that's got a mop and a stack of cardboard boxes filled with toilet paper in it, and when Shitty comes up behind her and starts to open his mouth Lardo grabs him by the tie and shoves him inside then slams the door behind them. 

"Lards," Shitty sounds understandably confused considering Lardo's just dragged him into the janitor's closet. "Uh? Dude? You--"

"Shitty," Lardo says pretty severely, "if you don't shut up right this second I'm not gonna be able to do this, and if I don't do it right now then I'll probably lose my nerve." Her heart is hammering loudly enough that he can probably hear it, and there's an edge of hysteria to her voice that makes her really glad it's very dark and he can't really see her. 

"Right," Shitty says, and she hears him swallow.

There's probably a better time for this but--

Lardo takes a step forward so her hips are touching his, and then one more so his back is flat against the door of the closet, and then she reaches up to catch his collar and tug his face down towards her. He makes a surprised sound and then Lardo kisses him, getting her fingers around the back of his neck and pressing up against him so his hips are trapped between hers and the door. His kiss on the dancefloor had been soft and hesitant but Lardo doesn't know if she can pull that off right now, but Shitty gasps into her mouth when she tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth so he doesn't seem to mind. His fingers catch her waist, pulling her even harder against him, and Lardo grinds into him to hear what he'll sound like when she does. 

She likes it. 

He curses when she tugs his head back and follows the line of his jaw with her mouth, and does it again when she shoves her knee in between his legs. He gets his fingers into her hair and tugs her face up a little to kiss her again, tracing the crease of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. Shitty's fingers travel up her arm and then trace the neckline of her dress as he pulls at her earlobe with his teeth, which catches Lardo off guard and makes her gasp. So she fumbles with his belt buckle and then the button on his dress pants because she wants this-- has wanted it for a long time-- but she also wants to win.

"Lards--" he gasps, and Lardo has never been more thankful for that goddamned nickname in the three years she's had it. She kisses him because she likes how he sounds when he says it and any kind of subtlety they might have had about this (not that there had been much) is gone. He kisses her hard and sloppy and his mustache tickles but she doesn't mind it, and his dick is hard when she slides her hand over the fabric of his boxers. She doesn't use much pressure but Shitty's breath hitches and he pushes into her hand. She feels dizzy and giddy, a combination of the alcohol in her system and the hitch in Shitty's breathing and the ridiculousness of the situation. 

Lardo tugs at the waistband of his boxers, traces his hipbone with her thumb, starts to shove them out of the way to fist his cock-- and then something starts playing music somewhere in the dark and Lardo just about leaps out of her skin. 

"Fuck," Shitty says, "uh, that's my cellphone, ah shit--" he fumbles around in the dark in the direction of his pocket and his face is illuminated suddenly by the light from his cell screen as he stops the call.

"Shitty," Lardo says, as seriously as she can considering the circumstances, "why is your ringtone "Hiphopopotamus Vs. Rhymenocerous?"'

"Be more constructive with your feedback, please," Shitty says. "Uh-- do you--"

His phone rings again. 

"Fuck you," Shitty says to it. "It's my dad. God, shit Lards, fuck--"

"Go on," Lardo says, and she pulls her hand out of his pants. 

"I'm gonna fucking-- hello? What? Really? Do I have to? Uh. Right, got it. Yeah. Be right there. Dickface," he says the last word after he ends the call. "I'm needed for some more goddamned family photos," he says, and Lardo can still feel his heartrate and how hard he's breathing. That's something, anyway. "He was one step away from threatening bodily harm."

"Shit," Lardy says. "Then I guess you outta--"

"I have to," Shitty says. "We, uh-- will you--don't fucking go anywhere, okay, because--"

"You can meet me upstairs," Lardo says firmly. "Third floor. Don't take too long." 

"Fuck," Shitty says, and laughs a little in the dark. "I gotta go." 

"Get a move on," Lardo says, and shoves him with her shoulder a little until he opens the door. The hallway is bright and they both blink, and Shitty's hair is ruffled and his collar askew. "And zip up your fly," Lardo says, and Shitty does, then smiles at her, then practically sprints off down the hall. 

 

 

 

 

Shitty jogs back towards the ballroom and his internal monologue is a string of unprintable words that are gravitating between general family-related fury and a kind of ecstatic panic. It’s not the usual reaction when someone accosts him in a supply closet, but not everyone is Lardo.

Both Marty and Victoria are super drunk and Shitty’s honestly not sure he even understands the point of these pictures except to completely and specifically make his life more complicated. His grandmother is blotchy in the face and a little unsteady and his dad looks pissed about being dragged away from whatever highroller he’s trying to suck some money out of.

“Haven’t we taken enough fucking photos?” Shitty hisses at him

“This should be enough to appease your grandmother,” his dad says. “It won’t kill you to look like you don’t hate us.”

“It might,” Shitty says. “Oh by the way, I’m pretty sure Aunt Kate is trying to suck your investment banker friend’s dick. The one with the flight attendant wife?”

“For God’s sake,” his dad says as they all shuffle into a line.

“She’s your sister, so she’s your problem,” Shitty says. “He’s probably a better lay than the Harvard Business School, which is what everyone else here seems to want to stick it in.”

“Why do you always have to be so difficult?” Shitty’s dad asks. He puts his hand on Shitty’s shoulder.

“If I don’t,” Shitty says, “who will? Smile for the camera, Pops.”

Shitty’s dad sighs in a way that implies a lot of things about asshole rebellious children and respecting authority, which makes Shitty feel pretty damn good considering the circumstances.

He finds himself being pulled into several drunken hugs, he congratulates the bride and groom one more time, kisses his grandmother on the cheek and hopes she doesn’t ignore the fact that he probably reeks of tequila and throws up his middle finger towards his father as he finally manages to make a dash for the hotel lobby and the elevator. He snags a bottle of wine as he goes, because he figures that no matter how this whole thing plays out he’s probably going to need it.

Lardo is leaning against the wall next to the elevator and texting when he gets out of it, and she quirks an eyebrow at him and the bottle. He shrugs.

“Catching up on the group chat,” she says. “They’re telling each other in detail what they ate today and I think Jack is flirting with Bitty but I can’t really tell.”

“Jack's a very stoic texter,” Shitty says, “and you know I fucking love him but Bits might be the most oblivious motherfucker on the planet,” Shitty says. “Motherfucker,” he says again, relishing how the word feels in his mouth. “Motherfucking fuck balls and tits on a stick.” Lardo laughs.

“That sounds more like you,” she says, and she turns and starts off down the hall. “You’re still determined not to meddle with Jack and Bits?”

“Fuck no,” Shitty says. “Don’t wanna spook ‘em.” The conversation is silly, one they’ve had a few times before, but his heart is drumming fast and he’s very aware of his body and how far apart they are, how Lardo is looking at him. She pauses in front of her hotel room door and slides her keycard in the slot until the light turns green, then turns the handle and takes the bottle from him at the same time.

“What are you doing?” Shitty asks, which is a colossally stupid thing to say. Lardo bites her lip.

“Calling your bluff,” she says, and smiles very slowly, and walks through the door.

“Fuck,” Shitty says. He pauses for a whole half a second, then he follows her. Lardo shuts the door behind him and takes a sip right from the bottle and looks at him. There’s a silence and it sits there in between them, heavy and full of mischief and promise and a lot of things that have sat implied in all their interactions all year. Shitty thinks he should say something, or kiss her maybe, but then he has a better idea, because this started as a game and he’s got enough self-awareness to know he’s a stubborn dick sometimes and she knows that about him too. And he wants to make her laugh. He kicks off his shoes, struggling a little with the tight laces, undoes the cuffs of his suit jacket.

“What are _you_ doing?” Lardo asks, and he feels triumphant that she sounds surprised.

“Playing chicken,” Shitty says. “What does it look like?” He shrugs his jacket down his shoulders and tosses it across the hotel room chair, and then he puts his hands on his hips and raises his eyebrows, a gesture meant to say _Your turn, or are you scared?”_

Lardo shakes her head for a second, the expression on her face unreadable.  Then she sets down the bottle and reaches down to remove her right heel, and then her left one. She sets them next to each other on the floor and settles her dress so her feet are covered again, and then gestures with her chin at him. Her eyes have heat in them, and Shitty’s fingers suddenly feel clumsy as he starts to tug at the knot in his tie.

“Wait,” Lardo says. “Here.” She steps forward a little-- too far to be touching but close enough that Shitty can feel her body heat-- and goes up on her toes to slide his tie end-over-end and then off his neck. The silk rasps against his collar. Lardo drops it on the floor and then turns around. Her dress is strapless but there’s the silver line of a necklace against her skin.

“Go on, then,” she says, and glances over her shoulder at him through her lashes. Shitty wants to applaud her for upping the ante so cleverly, but he’s not really sure he’ll be able to find his voice with her looking at him like that. He fumbles with the tiny clasp a little and, on impulse, runs his finger down the line of her spine and between her shoulder blades. He wants to put his mouth there, and at her hairline, and at the spot where her jaw meets her ear.

Lardo sets the necklace down on her shoes then turns to look at him again. Her eyes travel up his body and then down again and she’s waiting, starting to look a little smug. Shitty tugs a little dramatically at the buckle on his belt to wipe the look off her face and Lardo does blink, but then she steps closer and shoves his hand out of the way. Her thumb flicks open the button on his pants and she slides down the zipper, her hip up against his hip and her leg against his leg. Her thumbs trace the jut of his hipbones under his boxers and Shitty swallows, hard. She looks up at him, slides her fingers under the waistband of his trousers and tugs them down. When they’re down around his knees she steps back so he has to kick them off.

“You had to wear marijuana print boxers, didn’t you?” She says, but her voice sounds amused and a little breathy.

“They made me feel better,” Shitty says, and his voice is definitely unsteady despite the fact that he’s aiming for casual.

“Unzip me,” Lardo says, and turns around again. The zipper on her dress stops right above her waistline and Shitty tugs it down slowly, and lets his fingers follow the indent of her spine. He’s satisfied to hear her breath catch, just a little. Lardo slides the dress down the rest of the way and wiggles out of it, kicking it towards her shoes with one foot. She’s wearing a black strapless bra and black panties with lace on the edge, and she runs her hands through her hair in a way that might be self conscious but then smiles in a way that says _Here’s the one time in our lives that I’m wearing more clothes than you are._

She doesn’t wait for him to give any kind of gesture before she reaches up to start with the buttons on his shirt. The first couple she undoes fast but then she slows down, and her eyes don’t leave his face. She can probably feel how fucking fast his heart is going through his ribs.

When she’s gotten all the buttons off she slides the shirt off his shoulders and her fingers on his skin is electric, like her eyes and her smile. Lardo chucks it across the room and then steps a few paces back, and the space between them feels huge.

Her eyes are big and dark and Shitty feels a little bit sick but he also knows that he can’t take it anymore, and maybe that means he’s waving a white flag in the game they’ve been playing with each other all evening, but he doesn’t care.

“Fuck it,” he says, because he has to say something and it’s a good enough thing to say as any, and he takes two steps forward and kisses her.

It might have been dramatic and even romantic if Lardo hadn’t also jumped forward at the same time. She reaches up and Shitty reaches down and he almost jabs her in the eye and then their faces smack together. Shitty lands somewhere in between her nose and her upper lip and their chins bump awkwardly, and Lardo both pulls back and steps closer when they both start laughing.

“You’re gonna take out my tooth,” he says. “How the fuck am I gonna explain that, bro?”

“Occupational hazard,” Lardo says. “I’m uh—you—“

“I’m really fucking glad you also—“ Shitty gestures between them, “because, okay, if that went any further then I was gonna be standing there with my dick out not knowing what to do next.”

“Shits,” Lardo says, and her laughter is making her voice bright, “you’re always standing around with your dick out.”

“Well yeah,” he says, “but this different. It would be out with a purpose. Right? Instead of just for the novelty of it. Just to have it out because I can.”

“Do you ever stop talking?” Lardo asks, and she closes the space between them and slides her hands up his chest to his biceps. Her face is caught in a funny expression, half embarrassed and half amused. It gets him right at the center of his chest, and Shitty feels warm all the way to the tips of his fingers, which he moves to frame her face. It’s the way he feels whenever he looks at her times about a billion, but worse because she’s right here, smiling up at him looking a little confident and a little awkward.

“Sometimes,” Shitty says. “If I’ve got something better to do, anyway.”

“If you’ve got something better to do I think you better do it,” Lardo says, and Shitty can’t argue with that.

When he kisses her she loops one arm around his waist and starts tugging him backwards and he lets himself be led, caught up in the press of her mouth and the slick line of her teeth under her top lip, her jaw under his fingers and her fingers on his back. He kisses her slowly until she tugs on his bottom lip with her teeth a little in a way that sends goosebumps racing right down his spine, and this doesn’t feel like the first time they’ve been here. Shitty’s wanted to do this for a while.

They shuffle forwards until Lardo’s knees bump into the bed behind them and she sits down. Rather than joining her on the bed Shitty kneels so he’s sitting between her knees, looks right up at her. He runs his hands along her thighs to her waist and up her ribs, feeling the way her ribcage moves when she exhales to laugh a little.  

 Lardo tugs his hair out from where he had it tied back and gets her fingers into it, and Shitty looks up at her, feels dazzled. It's suddenly very difficult for him to breathe. 

"Shits," Lardo says softly, and that makes him feel brave. He kisses the spot under her ear, the length of her throat, her collarbone and the hollow between her breasts as he flicks open the clasp on her bra. Shitty runs a hand up her side, cups her breast so she sighs and arches her back, digging her fingers into his hair. Shitty slides his mouth over her collarbone then her nipple, takes it gently between his teeth and tugs a little so she whines. He feels dizzy because this is Lardo making that noise, Lardo's body and Lardo's fingers in his hair and Lardo cursing a little under her breath. Lardo, Lardo, Lardo, Shitty thinks, and raises his head again to look at her. She licks her lips and then scoots backwards on the bed so she's lying flat on her back. Shitty follows her, leaning on his elbows, kisses her again and skims his hand over her breasts and her stomach and then between her legs, over fabric of her underwear. She lifts her hips a little so he can tug it down. 

“Do I completely lose this game if I stop and beg you to sit on my face?” Shitty asks, trying to hide the fact that he sounds desperate and a little demanding.

Lardo scrutinizes him for a second, then shoves at his shoulder so he lands flat on his back. She slings one leg over his hip and rocks against him for a second, makes a big deal of chewing her thumbnail.

“If I hear a single word about mustache rides I’m gonna shove you out a window,” she says.

“Well,” Shitty says nonchalantly, despite the fact that he’s head-over-heels, “I wasn’t gonna before but I might now.”

“Shut up,” Lardo says, grinning. 

“Make me,” Shitty says. Lardo slides herself up his body, and she kisses him deep and dirty, and then she does.

 

 

 

 

“Well,” Shitty says, once they both more or less have their breath back. “I think we gotta head back downstairs for one last round of pictures.”

Lardo had slumped over bonelessly onto the overly fluffy hotel pillow, but she jolts upright to stare at him. He’s running his hands through his hair, blanket draped over his knees, and has her lipstick on his face. Lardo can only imagine what she looks like; hair mussed, makeup everywhere, face blotchy and shiny. She doesn’t know where her underwear went.

“What?” she yelps. “I thought-- oh my God-- there is no way I can make myself look like I didn’t just get fucked in any--”

Shitty’s face cracks and it jumps from serious to grinning just like that. “Dude, I’m fucking with you,” he says, and his voice wobbles a little bit with laughter. “They’re all probably black-out drunk right now, they’re not doing anything else---”

“Oh my god,” Lardo snaps.“Get fucked!”

“You gotta give me like five minutes, but I could go again,” Shitty is still grinning and Lardo feels justified in hitting him in the face with a pillow. He grabs it from her so she slips and ends up on top of him, their hipbones touching. She digs one elbow into his stomach just a little, because he deserves it.

“So that’s a no?” He looks up at her and his face contorts in the way it does when he’s trying to hold in laughter.

“Didn’t say that,” Lardo says. “You have lipstick on your chin.” She rubs at it with her thumb, then follows the line of his jaw with her finger.

“Nipple piercings are mad wicked, bro,” he says. He moves his arm a little to slide it around her waist, fingers ghosting over her ribs.

“Thanks,” Lardo says.

“Why now?” he says, and his face goes soft and sort of vulnerable. It’s a look Lardo likes on him.

She shrugs one shoulder because she doesn’t really have a real answer, because she’s been asking herself the same thing all evening. “Why not?” she says, and Shitty smiles. “And anyway,” Lardo continues, “isn’t this what you’re supposed to do at weddings?”

“Is it?” Shitty asks. “I never really paid much attention. I don’t know if I ever saw that movie—Drew Barrymore or someone?”

“That’s the Wedding Singer,” Lardo says, and she sighs a little because Shitty’s running his thumbnail across her hipbone. “I was thinking of the Wedding Date. Debra Messing hires a male escort to be her date? No?”

“Nah,” Shitty says. “Am I missing anything?”

“No,” Lardo says. It’s nice, this silly conversation, no weirder than any other silly conversation they’ve ever had. It feels like nothing has really changed, but it also feels like everything has. “So then tell me,” Lardo says, “why did you have condoms in your glove box if you weren’t thinking about this?”

“I’m like a boyscout,” Shitty says, and he doesn’t blush but he does run his fingers through his hair and let out a breath. Lardo can feel him exhale under her. “And maybe I was being optimistic?" 

"Uh huh," Lardo can't help her smile. 

"Speaking of," Shitty says, "all our shit's still in the car so I should probably go walk-of-shame it out of here eventually and find Chris before he passes out in a bathroom. I've got no idea which room is his and he does have the tendency to do that." 

"You're a moron," Lardo says, and she grabs at his wrist and pins it to the mattress and shakes her head.

"Uh--" 

"I'm not gonna make you bunk with your cousin" Lardo snorts, and Shitty looks a little sheepish.

"I didn't wanna assume anything--" he says, floundering a little. 

"A moron," Lardo says, and kisses him again. "You thought I'd-- what-- jerk you off in a supply closet and then give you the boot?"

"Weirder things have happened to me," Shitty says, "but uh-- I'm glad to hear that. I think we both leveled the fuck up in 'Never Have I Ever' this weekend." 

Maybe this is supposed to be awkward, or complicated, or any of a thousand other things, but it's not. It's easy. At the same time, Lardo knows she probably wouldn't have done this yesterday.

"I think that's the best way to tell Rans and Holster," Lardo says. "And Bits, oh my god." 

"Bits'll flip," Shitty says, but doesn't sound too concerned about it. 

"I think they've all been expecting this to happen for a while," Lardo says this a little tentatively, because she doesn't quite know how to say this, or if she should, or if she even has to. But Shitty just nods. 

"No fucking kidding," he says. "Bunch of assholes. A while, huh?" He tugs at the corner of his mustache with his free hand. 

"Shut up," Lardo says, and she leans down to kiss him again, and that's that.

 

 

 

 

Shitty does his walk of shame to grab breakfast and both their bags in the morning, and he waves cheerfully at his father as he sees him in the hallway. He's absolutely wearing yesterday's dress clothes.

"Will you stay for breakfast at least?" he asks.

"I think my familial obligations for this weekend are full up," Shitty says. "And I have a metric fuck ton of homework to bang out this afternoon. So no." 

His dad just sighs. 

Lardo puts on a Best of Queen album that's taken up permanent residence in Shitty's glovebox and they spend most of the drive back to Samwell singing along with Freddie Mercury, except for the half an hour when she gives in and lets Shitty put on Car Talk. She leaves her hand on his knee through most of the drive, and neither of them say anything because neither of them feel like they need to. And that's that. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> title comes from "philomena" by the decemberists aka the best indie folk song that anybody has ever written about cunningulus, please look it up, you're welcome


End file.
